


Feather Pillows

by Caswingsuniverse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean pets Cas' wings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season 10 Spoilers, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 13:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4524303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caswingsuniverse/pseuds/Caswingsuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has an afternoon to himself, and Cas shows up with his broken wings back. Dean provides some comfort even though Cas never asks for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feather Pillows

The air conditioner pushes around humid breaths of air and spits out chunks of black. Dean shakes his head at the trash littering the floor as he drops his duffle bag on the bed. The air feels wet, a dank sent that seems to stick to his skin as he moves deeper into the motel room towards the bathroom. He smiles at the lines of grim in the shower tiles and rings of rust on the sink handles.

Sam grunts at the smell, coughing as he sits on the other bed. "You hungry?"

Dean turns to face his younger brother; beams of light fall through the dusty blinds and follow the pattern of his plaid flannel. He shakes his head, shaking off his own jacket and tossing it across the back of an old wooden chair. "I'm alright, Sammy. You can go ahead to the library and do your nerd thing."

Sam rolls his eyes, flicking his hair from his face as he stands up and grabs his laptop. "I'll bring burgers when I finish."

Stretching on his bed with the remote, Dean calls after his brother. "Don't forget the pie!"

When the door lock clicks behind Sam's short chuckle, Dean mumbles to himself, claiming that he'll probably forget the pie. He figured he had a couple of silent hours to himself before Sam came back with the grub and information for the case. Underneath his back the old feather pillows sigh, deflating. He punches them into shape, turning the TV onto a Dr. Sexy M.D.

Another grin shapes his face as he settles against the head board, hands folded across his chest as his eyes rake over the white lab coat and long black hair. Breathing slows, the musty air already a familiar scent. A relaxing afternoon would do him good after a week surrounded by the constant rumble of baby’s engine. His legs are still shaking from the ghost of the feeling. 

Silence settles around him, the sounds of kissing and moans from the TV quiet. Dean starts to drift into a state of half sleep. He murmurs to himself, speaking thoughts out loud. Thoughts on the Mark, Crowley, Rowena, Sam, Charlie, and Cas. 

Cas… He had gone away with Metadouche and come back… He had come back and said he had his grace again. He was Castiel again. Badass soldier of the Lord. Still awkward, and dorky, and Cas with blue eyes and crazy black hair. Still his Cas, but whole now.

"Hello, Dean." The gravelly voice shocks him awake with a snort, the stoic face lighting up with a smile the second Dean opens his eyes.

Dean laughs lightly, shaking his head as he sits up. "Hey, Cas."

Cas looks around the motel room, nostrils flared. "I have forgotten your affinity for run down motels."

He waves his hand and the smell disappears. Cas's face flushes and pales with effort, shoulders shaking slightly. Dean stands, holding out a hand to keep him from falling. Pressing down on his shoulder, Dean has Cas sit on the bed. The angel sways as he kneels in front of him and assesses the sweat on his upper lip.

"Don't where yourself out on small stuff, man."

Cas offers a small grimace, wiping his face with his coat sleeve. Dean stands and reaches for his duffle bag. Pulling out a water, he hands it to Cas after he shucks off his trench coat. Cas rolls up his sleeves, waving his hand in front of his face. "I suppose you're right, Dean."

Dean looks Cas up and down, one corner of his mouth turned down. Anger and despair and guilt churns in his stomach, bubbling in his throat. The past couple years with purgatory, Naomi, and Metatron a large knot of unlocked pain he didn't want to think about.

"So you're…"

"Me again? Yes." Looking down at his hands crossed in his lap, Cas shakes his head. "Well mostly."

Dean sits on the other part of the bed, glancing at Cas while he messes with a bottle of water. "Mostly? What's that supposed to mean?"

Tension suffocates them for a minute while Cas bites his bottom lip, blue eyes aflame with an age old kind of sorrow. Dean swallows, knowing he's the one who put it there. Cas should have never pulled him out of Hell in the first place. Broken shards of laughter come from Cas's chest and he holds his head in his hands. It had been a while since Dean had seen Cas look so human. In so much visible pain.

Blue ripples like waves from his pupils, and Dean can see the silver strands of grace floating behind the human pain in his irises. His hand reaches out, palm matching the shape of his best friend's shoulder blade. Cas hisses, flinching away from Dean then leaning closer, pressing into his hand. Dean examines his face, scratching through Cas’s white dress shirt lightly. The angel sighs, voice dropping an octave. His eyelids flutter, back arching like a cat into Dean's hand.

Calloused fingers press a little harder, scratching across the expanse of Cas's back. A hum starts up in Cas's chest, rumbling between them. "Feel good, Cas?"

Dean's voice drips with a little mockery, a smirk on his lips. Cas looks up at him, smiling in return, exhaustion clear in the bags under his eyes. He droops, leaning more into Dean's chest. Normally, Dean would back away but light flickers in the motel room, the shape of wings appearing under Dean's hand. Shadows morph into dark shapes. Dean gasps as Cas moans a little, stretching the sinewy muscles. Feathers float from the black muscles, coming away under Dean's hand. He stares, mouth open at the handful.

"Cas, man, what's… your wings…"

His dilated pupils focus on Dean, sadness trickling into his gaze again and his wings drooping. "Its… my grace. It's not whole."

"And it won't… Will they get better?"

Cas looks away, staring at the floor and away from Dean. "I don't know, Dean."

The wings are warm under Dean's palm, muscles rippling with every gentle touch. He strokes softly, watching his best friend rock back and forth. Cas sighs again, pressing his face against Dean’s neck and falling asleep. Dean pushes Cas gently away, shocking him awake. A whimper escapes his throat without his consent, causing Dean to chuckle lightly.

"I'm just taking off your shoes you baby." Dean unties the laces, pulling them off the dress shoes. "You sleep with your socks on?"

"No…" came the warbled reply. Dean glances up, meeting his tired gaze. Cas shouldn't know how he likes to sleep. He shouldn't know what sleep feels like. He should never have had to sleep. Sleep is too human for the angel.

His long pale fingers pet Dean's hair lightly. "It's alright, Dean… Sleep is nice…"

Dean scoffs, pulling the socks off and shoving them into the shoes. He pats Cas's knee, shoving his shoulder lightly to tell him to lie down. Pulling the covers out, he tucks Cas in, stroking his wings lightly as he does so. Another sigh slash moan escapes his chapped lips, so Dean keeps working at the tight muscles.

"Then get some sleep."

The ozone scent had come back to him, mixing with the human scent of musk and the road. His fingers work the muscles, tracing over each feather, and scratching underneath. Little gasps and sighs fill the air as Cas presses his back into Dean's hands again. Dean shushes him, piling the feathers that wiggle loose on the night stand. They’re soft and rigid like the night sky. So weightless Dean doesn’t know if he’s holding them unless his squeezes his fingers. Power buzzes in them as he lies them down. Prickles of new feathers rub against Dean's hands like hair stubble, filling Dean with a little hope.

Cas drifts, chest slowly rising and falling with a slight snore. Dean smiles down at him, brushing his hair out of his face and pulling away to go sit on Sam's bed. A hand reaches out for him, pulling him back to the bed. "You can stay, Dean."

"Okay, okay," Dean says as he settles onto the other half of the mattress, laying on his back and looking at the broken angel beside him. Despite the bruise-like bags under his eyes, the knots in his hair, the sweaty gleam of his skin, the feathers on the nightstand. Despite his human appearance, Dean had never seen anymore more beautiful. "Cas?"

"Hmm?" his low voice hums, his hand reaching out for Dean's again.

Dean stares at the long fingers curved around his own scarred ones. His skin is soft like the silvery color of his grace, yet rougher than he remembers from the last time Cas healed him. He maps the territory of Cas's hand, tracing over the mountains of his knuckles. "Do you think your grace will heal?"

"Maybe… I hope so…"

Dean whispers, "I hope so too."

And they fall asleep like that, hands intertwined, bodies curving towards the other.

When Sam comes in hours later, he smiles at the two men. Cas's wings are gone, his face pressed into Dean's chest and arms wrapped around his stomach. Dean's arm crosses around Cas's back, holding his side protectively. Sam shakes his head, putting the burger, pie and beer in the mini fridge. He picks up the remote to channel surf until the angel and hunter wake up.


End file.
